


Sharp as Glass and Twice as Bright

by valamerys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Again, Bedsharing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 03:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9415733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valamerys/pseuds/valamerys
Summary: When he speaks again, it’s a low rumble in his chest. “If you keep doing that, dove, neither of us is going to get any sleep.”Heat coils in Elain’s stomach. “I’m not tired.”[Elucien + classic THERE IS ONLY ONE BED WHAT DO.] [yes i just did one for each of my ships dont look at me im a monster]





	1. Chapter 1

Elain stops right inside the doorway, caught up short. “Oh.” Lucien, behind her, goes still too, looking at the room.

And its single bed.

A prickly kind of heat warms the bond between them, Elain’s face warming.

“A mistake, I’m sure,” Lucien says lightly, recovering first.

Lucien had asked for two beds, of course, downstairs where they’d gotten the key. The inkeep had winked at Elain when Lucien had turned away, and she hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but in retrospect, Elain is fairly certain this was not a mistake.

“We can go back downstairs,” Lucien says, although he doesn’t quite reach the surety, or the nonchalance, he seems to be aiming for. “I’m sure they can give us a new room with—“

“I don’t mind,” Elain blurts.

Lucien pauses, surprise flickering down the bond. “You don’t—?“

“I don’t mind the… one bed. If you don’t, I mean.”

Lucien’s eyes trace hers briefly. “Not at all.”

Elain finds herself speaking without anything to say, heart in her throat. “Okay.”

And so this too _happens_ in much the same fashion that everything in their relationship has _happened_ up to this point: simply, with a little blushing from both parties but no fuss.

There’s a washroom attached to the room, and Elain uses it to change. She bites her lip as she smooths down the front of her nightgown. It’s sleeveless and _very_ low cut, with an empire waist; the skirt goes past her knees but it’s got a slit running up to her thigh that would have scandalized human Elain. She’d been a little embarrassed to pack it, thinking the chances she’d have an opportunity to wear it for an appreciative audience were wildly slim and the chances she wouldn’t chicken out even slimmer: the fabric is thin enough that her nipples poke through it very slightly.

He kissed her, a week ago, before he left on a hunt, and seemed as surprised as she was about it. They haven’t talked about it, certainly haven’t kissed again—they’ve hardly had time for either, running all over Prythian as diplomats, trying to make amends between courts now that the war is over. They’ve gotten very good at deflecting questions about the exact nature of their relationship, outside of the inevitable and well-known fact of _mates_ , and as easy as it is to talk to him, spend time with him, it’s hard to think some of the deflection hasn’t ended up between them, as well.

Elain would very much like to kiss him again.

Incidentally, she’s not wearing panties under the nightgown.

She sometimes doesn’t wear them to bed, but she’d be lying if she said the choice to forgo them in this situation wasn’t influenced by certain… possibilities. And it’s not like Lucien will be able to _tell_ , but the combination of bold moves has her palms sweating as she finally musters the courage to open the door and step back out.

Lucien looks up from where he’s sitting on the end of the bed; his eyes flicker over her and Elain’s heart hammers, but nothing in his expression changes as he nods at the bed. “Take whichever side you like.” He steps towards her with purpose, then, and Elain can’t help but freeze—but he’s just striding past her to the washroom to change as well.

Elain feels silly and embarrassed and she quickly buries herself under all the blankets on her chosen side to try to smother the feeling. Maybe Lucien doesn’t think the nightgown is sexy at all, maybe girls at the fall court regularly wear even less to bed. Or maybe he does but isn’t interested in anything sexual with her—but he _did_ kiss her, so that doesn’t make much sense. Or maybe he’s just not sure how to comment on it? But he’s so articulate, he’d find a way if he wanted to.

She’s agonizing about whether she should have worn something shorter and ergo more obvious or just bundled up in something from the Winter Court and avoided the whole issue when Lucien comes out of the bathroom in very sensible sleeping clothes, making Elain feel foolish again.

He sits on his edge of the bed, working out a knot in his long red hair with a wooden comb and giving her an amused glance.

“What?” Elain asks, her voice muffled by the covers she’s almost completely swallowed by.

“Something wrong?” He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh at her, possibly because it looks like she’s sulking, with all of three inches of her face poking out. And of course he’d feel her distress through the bond—Elain curses herself internally for not realizing he would.

“No.” She pushes the covers back a little, gives him a reassuring smile and a white lie. “Just cold.”

“Well, give me a minute and I’ll join you under there and warm you up,” he says with a little smirk, and Elain’s heart does flips—it’s a joke, and she wishes it wasn’t. Lucien puts the comb down on the nightstand, separates his hair into sections with quick, practiced motions.

Elain watches him raptly. Lucien has long, graceful fingers, and it’s borderline erotic to see him do almost anything with them—play piano or pick her a flower or tie back his hair. He begins to wind it into a braid, red strands glimmering in the dim artificial light.

She shifts towards him a little, clutching a bundle of covers to her chest. “Do you do this every night?”

“Mhm.” He pulls it over his shoulder to continue working on it. “It’s so long that it’s a terrible mess in the morning if I don’t.”

“Can I—“ Elain doesn’t think, doesn’t let herself second guess the instinct to sit up and reach towards him. He pauses, and she swallows, finishes her request. “Can I help?”

He cocks his head at her like he’s not sure what to make of the request, but his expression is warm. “If you like.” He turns away from her, pushes the braid back so she can kneel behind him and finish it.

His hair’s silky—Elain really wants to _un_ braid it so she can play with it, run her hands through it endlessly, but she finishes it and ties it off with the scrap of leather he hands her.

She lingers, playing with the end. “I love your hair. Have I ever told you that?”

The mattress shifts as Lucien turns to face her again, his metal eye whirring and a faint smile playing at his lips. “I don’t believe you have, no.” A pause. “I’ve thought about cutting it. It’s a bit unwieldy.”

“I’d miss it if you did,” Elain says. “It’s lovely.”

Their faces are very close, she notices, a peculiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. It would be so easy to close the gap, to lean in and kiss him.

“Thank you,” He says softly. His eyes dart to her lips and Elain stops breathing for a moment.

Lucien clears his throat suddenly, leans back. “We should… get some sleep.”

Disappointment, mostly in herself, makes Elain’s throat tight as the moment slips through her fingers like sand. There was her chance, and now she’ll have sleep next to him knowing that she missed it. “Of course,” Elain says, subdued, edging back to her side of the bed. Once Lucien slips under the covers, he turns away from her, and it shouldn’t, but it stings.

The lights are magic, and begin to dim slowly until the room is dark, only a sliver of moonlight from between the curtains illuminating them.

Elain tears her eyes away from the shape of his shoulders and tries to think of anything else, anything that might eventually lead her to sleep, because this dissatisfied, gnawing want of him certainly isn’t going to, but it’s a futile exercise. His scent envelops her, woodsy and clean at the same time, with a note of cinnamon, and it makes her want, want, want.

She huffs in frustration and rolls back over, covers pulled to her chin. Her heart stutters a little to find Lucien on his side looking at her.

“Are you still cold?” Lucien’s voice is hoarse.

She’s the opposite of cold; she might catch on fire. But if she was cold, would he…?

Elain nods, and Lucien hesitates for just a moment before shifting towards her, pulling her to his chest so that Elain’s face is tucked against him, his chin resting on her head and his warm arms around her. She nestles into the soft material of his shirt, heart pounding embarrassingly—though his is too, if she’s not mistaken.

One of Lucien’s thumbs rubs her back absently. “Better?” And surely he can feel her answer through the bond if not her heartbeat, but she mumbles a happy little _mhmm_ into his neck anyway.

Elain adjusts their position slightly, slides the arm that rests around his waist up so that her hands brush under his shirt and settle on his bare side and chest. He doesn’t say anything, but she can sense the tiniest catch of surprise in the way he holds very still.

They’re so close together that when she speaks, it hardly has to be louder than a breath. “Don’t you usually sleep without a shirt?”

She’d woken Lucien up once, when she’d been excited about the ride they were going on that morning, and found him gloriously half-naked, all well-defined abs and a bright red treasure trail. The memory sharpens her want, emboldens her.

She feels him smile. “Yes, but that seemed inappropriate, given the circumstances.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.” Elain runs her fingers in lazy circles where they rest on his skin.

A flicker of his amusement—and something else— runs down the bond. “Noted.”

She knows she’s falling for him—his wit and his wry smiles and the surprising gentleness behind them (and his obscenely beautiful hair)—regardless of the bond, but surely the bond must be the source of this unyielding ache for him, the instinct that constantly demands _closer_ and _more_. At the moment, Elain doesn’t particularly care what it is or where it comes from. She just wants to surrender to it.

Her hands roam more broadly under his shirt, little by little. She trails touches up and down his side, across his abdomen—brushing once against that trail of hair—and she angles her head so that her lips ghost across his collarbone faintly, no more than a suggestion of heat.

When he speaks again, it’s a low rumble in his chest. “If you keep doing that, dove, neither of us is going to get any sleep.”

Heat coils in Elain’s stomach. “I’m not tired.”

 

this fic & my others are also on [tumblr](http://valamerys.tumblr.com/tagged/mine) :)


	2. Chapter 2

_ “I’m not tired.” _

Lucien stills for a moment, and then one of his hands comes to trail up her arm, knuckles skimming against her skin and raising goosebumps. Her heart drums in her chest, afraid he’ll stop her or draw back, but she presses a kiss to the bit of his chest exposed by the deep V of his shirt collar.

He makes a faint humming noise. “Wicked little thing, aren’t you.”

Elain flushes a little. “I don’t mean to be.” She’s glad they’re not making eye contact or she’d never have the courage to say, “I just… want to touch you.”

All of the oxygen seems to go out of the room, the way it does when fire ignites in a burst and eats it up. The fingers on her upper arm stop, and for a beat Elain thinks she’s made a mistake.

“You can touch me all you like,” Lucien says coolly.

Arousal courses through her at his answer and Elain bites back a noise. Lucien’s fingers come up to grip her chin, tilt her head up towards his.

His gaze flickers over her. “As long as I get to touch you too.”

She surges forward and kisses him, and it’s nothing like their last kiss, which was small and surprising; this is _hungry_ , Elain whimpering into his mouth and Lucien’s fingers digging into her waist as their lips move against each other, hot and wet.

Lucien props himself up on an elbow, drags kisses down her jaw to her neck. Elain tangles a hand in his hair at the base of his braid, breathing hard.

“I thought—” Elain breaks off as Lucien nips at her, lets out a little gasp before managing to say, “It seemed like you didn’t want me.”

He growls into her skin. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman, Elain. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to have you up against the bathroom door when you came out wearing this… thing.” He gives the skirt of her nightgown a tug.

Elain shivers. “You… like it?”

“Like it? I think you’re trying to kill me with it.” He says darkly, fingers trailing up to her breasts. He teases her nipples with the barest touch, and Elain makes a little dissatisfied sound, arches her back trying to get _more_. “Yes,” he clarifies, “I like it.”

“I wore it for you,” she says softly.

A satisfied snarl escapes him. “Did you?” His voice is velvet, affects her as much as any of his caresses. “Were you trying to tempt me, Elain? Were you trying to make me want you?” He pinches one of her nipples through the fabric and the sensation robs her of any coherent answer; she’s already so needy she can hardly speak. “You didn’t need a nightgown for that, pet,” he croons, rubbing his thumb in a tight circle over the sensitive bud. “I’ve wanted you for _so long_.”

Elain can’t stand that that silver tongue of his isn't in her mouth and captures him in a kiss again, slants her lips against his fiercely, pulling him as close as she can get him. She throws a knee around his waist, and his hand comes to grip her exposed thigh. His tongue flicks against hers, sends lightning to her core—Lucien has a way of kissing that’s savage and teasing at the same time, that makes her chase him even when they’re pressed against each other; ten seconds of his lips on hers and she’s addicted to it.

“Elain,” he pants when they break away, and Elain nuzzles at his neck, kisses the spot below his ear as she reaches down— “Cauldron,” he breathes, “I can _smell_ you, pet, I—“

He cuts off on a sharp exhale as she runs a hand across the bulge she finds. It turns Elain to liquid to feel it, to feel how hard he already is for her, to feel the size of her mate’s cock. She can’t help but grin into his lips as she kisses him again, tugs at the laces of his pants, but Lucien huffs out a laugh against her lips, and his hand comes to circle her wrist, stops her.

“Lucien,” she whines faintly. She needs _something_ , needs to touch him or him to touch her or—

One moment he has a hand on her wrist, the next he’s got both pinned on either side of her head. Elain is suddenly on her back, breathless and _wet_ as she looks up at him.

His mouth is curved up in a smile, but he shakes his head a fraction, eyes roaming her body. “I want to go first. I want to touch you first.”

The bond is taught between them, a gleaming thread, an electricity that’s sunk into Elain’s bones. All she can do in answer is nod desperately, tilt her hips toward him.

“Please,” she whispers.

His smirk broadens, and he releases her wrists, settles on his side next to her with a kiss—it’s deep but slow this time, thoughtful, almost, as he runs those long, pale fingers up the leg bared by how her nightgown has fallen. 

“Next time, I’ll have my mouth on you,” Lucien says, voice low, when they break apart. “But the first time I make you come, Elain—“ he traces the inside of her knee and continues upwards, making her shudder. “—I want to watch you.” He holds her gaze so intently she almost forgets about the panties she didn’t wear, until his hand slides over her clearly bare hip and her heart leaps into her throat. 

Lucien pauses.

“You seem to be missing an article of clothing.” He says it lightly, but there’s something feral tracing his expression. A hysterical little giggle she can’t help breaks through Elain’s lips.

Lucien’s answering smile is predatory. With no further preamble, he parts her folds with a few fingers, and Elain cries out at the suddenness. “You really _are_ wicked,” Lucien says, a dark, satisfied murmur. “That’s going to get you in trouble someday.”

There’s a heated little edge to the suggestion that makes Elain hope that’s a promise.

True to his word, his eyes are locked raptly on his face as he begins to stroke her. He draws his slick fingers up, circles her clit with them, and her hips move against him involuntarily as Elain bites her lip hard, trying to get a grip on the sounds she wants to make—it’s almost unbelievable, how easily he can shred every last bit of her self-control until she’s just a writhing mess for him.

A long moan slips out as he strokes her, with the perfect amount of pressure but agonizingly slowly. “Lucien, faster, please,“ she begs. His mouth quirks up, but he doesn’t change what he’s doing. 

Elain’s going to lose her mind. “Please,” she chokes, “Please, I’m already so close, I need you to—“

Lucien draws his fingers to her entrance, and Elain stops breathing—but they stay there, just barely resting against where Elain needs them inside her.

“Lucien,” Elain whines, distraught. “You _awful_ tease—“

And suddenly he’s pushing two long fingers inside her and Elain gasps, claws at his shirt. It’s not quite what she wants, it’s not as filling as his cock will be, but she’s _sensitive_ and so wet his fingers make obscene, slick sounds as they start to pump in and out of her.

Tiny keening sounds tear their way from Elain’s throat, and Lucien’s free hand pushes her hair out of her face sweetly.

“So wet for me, aren’t you, pet?” he murmurs, and Elain nods helplessly. He’s utterly composed as she falls apart, grinds against his hand wantonly. He moves to speak in her ear, hot and quiet— “Is this what you wanted when you put the nightgown on? Did you want me to touch you like this?” Elain nods again but Lucien clicks his tongue scoldingly. “I want to hear you, dove.”

“Yes,” she whimpers, “Yes.”

Lucien shifts a little, and Elain doesn’t realize why until she feels pressure on her clit that makes her _writhe._ He asks, evenly, “And are you going to come for me?”

He’s using _both of his hands on her,_ of course she’s going to come, of course—Elain tries to speak, to answer him, but she lets out a broken cry instead; she tries to say _yes yes yes yes_ through the bond, tries to tell him—

And then she’s shattering, clenching around his fingers, choking on his name as release courses through her. She drags Lucien to her the moment she can think straight, kisses him, gasps into his mouth as he strokes her through the aftershocks.

“Elain,” he says, as he finally lets his fingers drop from her, slowly. “Elain, you’re everything.”

She’s weak and limp but there’s a smile growing on her face she couldn’t fight if she wanted to, and she pulls him in for another kiss. She tries to get her heart rate back under control, tries to let him soothe her, let her body calm down from its high. But Lucien’s smiling too, she realizes—he kisses her on the forehead, then, and when he lets out a laugh, arms around her, her heart feels full. _This is her mate,_ something in her purrs, and he’s beautiful and perfect and Elain feels tingly and warm and _happy_.

“Stop it,” Elain teases, grinning so wide it hurts.

“I—Elain,” he kisses her again before laughing again, saying, “I can’t believe you didn’t wear panties.”

Elain flushes, presses against him a little bit. “You liked it.”

“I loved it, I just didn’t think—“ He kisses her again, mid-thought—it’s like it’s magnetic force between them, like they can’t stop their lips from colliding now. He has to make a concentrated effort to pull away. “—Cauldron, I didn’t think you…“

It’s Elain’s turn to laugh now, at how obviously he doesn’t know what to say. “You thought I was a shy little virgin, didn’t you?” She stares obviously at his lips, ready and willing to disprove that notion again.

“I think I might have used the word _modest,_ but you did surprise me, yes.” His eyes dart over her like he can’t believe she’s real, mouth tugging up in a smile. “You’re never quite what I expect.”

“Disappointed?” Elain asks coyly, dragging her hand down his chest and lower.

“Delighted,” he corrects her, with a little bit of a growl. Elain kisses him again, sweetly, as her hand keeps going, until she can run her fingertips across the outline of the obvious erection he still has. He breaks off with a little noise, and the shake of his head. “Elain, dove, don’t feel obligated to—“

“Shh,” she says absently, sitting up, settling herself over him as he was with her, “I wanted to touch you, remember? And I still haven’t gotten to.” She gives him another kiss, hard, and she can feel his surrender in it when she palms him firmly over his sleeping clothes.

When she draws back she takes a moment to consider him: mussed red braid, lips swollen from kissing her, stiff cock. _Mate_. 

“I want you in my mouth,” she says decisively, and Lucien closes his eyes and lets out a very soft curse as Elain starts kissing his neck, pushes his shirt up to trail kisses down his abdomen, runs her tongue down the hair there. She nuzzles at the hard ridge in his pants, runs her lips across his length teasingly and giggles when she feels him twitch through the fabric.

“ _Elain_ ,” he says, breathless, right on the razor’s edge of _begging_ her, and it’s her favorite way he’s ever said her name.

She tugs the laces of his pants apart, and he helps her slide them down just far enough that he’s bare before her. Elain goes hot and loose at the sight of his cock—she’s felt how big he is, but seeing it, thinking about how it will feel to hold it inside her when he finally takes her…

Lucien misreads her pause. “Elain, you really don’t have to—“

Elain licks him roughly once up the shaft and Lucien cuts off with a groan, head falling back onto the pillows.

“But I want to,” she says sweetly, innocently, as she takes him in her hand, strokes him once, twice. He’s thick, endearingly pink at the tip, the tiniest bead of precum gathered there. Elain flicks her tongue out to taste it and Lucien is panting under her as she lowers her mouth around him.

He lets out a soft moan as she starts to suck, bobbing her head and swirling her tongue around him as best she can, slowly working the rest with her hands. Her confidence falters a little—she’s only done this a handful of times, never to anyone as big as Lucien, and certainly never to anyone with as much experience—but she wants this, she wants him.

“Elain,” Lucien gasps, reverent, and he pushes her hair from her face gently. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, pet,” he says, strained.

His cock is warm and heavy in her mouth, and Elain tightens her lips around it, takes him a fraction deeper—she glances up at him, sees his eyes flutter closed and his mouth fall open. Which is a good sign, but... the insecurity nags at her. She takes him out of her mouth, takes a moment to collect herself as Lucien looks down with sudden concern.

“Am I…” Elain knows she sounds silly and insecure, but she has to ask, “Am I doing alright?”

“Cauldron, Elain,” Lucien chokes out, pushing himself into a sitting position to be closer to her, “You’re perfect.”

Elain must look doubtful because Lucien’s brow furrows and he pulls her into a kiss, hard but affectionate, somehow. His lips are warm and _very_ distracting, and when he tries to deepen it she draws back with a bit of a cheeky huff.

“I’m not _done_ yet,” she says firmly, placing a hand on his chest to guide him back down, timidity eclipsed by determination to get him off. Lucien puffs out a laugh that turns into a sharp inhale when Elain grips him again, runs her tongue up his length and takes him back in her mouth with renewed effort.

“Elain, wait,” Lucien gasps. She stops, holds him still for a moment.

“Can I…” He seems to struggle for a moment. “…Do something?”

She frowns. “What?”

Lucien’s looking at her strangely darkly. “Can I pull your hair?”

Elain’s not sure what she was expecting him to say, but that seems almost too tame a request to warrant asking.

“Of course,” she says, stroking him lightly. His head falls back with open-mouthed pleasure and he nods once at her—permission to go on. She wraps her lips around him again and almost moans at the feeling; she loves how thick he feels in her mouth, even if her jaw’s starting to ache. He gathers up her hair, a hand on either side of her face, the fist he collects it in tight.

Suddenly he _pulls_ , and the gasp that tears from Elain’s throat is muffled on his cock. Hot pain blazes through her scalp, burns down her spine to settle inbetween her legs almost instantly, and he just holds her there for a moment, at full tension, only the tip of him in her mouth. Elain cranes her neck as much as she dares to look up at him, the pain drawing tears to her eyes—Lucien looks _ravenous_ , awed and hungry, and it makes her whimper.

“Good girl,” he says, guttural. “Keep looking at me.” His fist tightens a fraction and he starts to guide her up and down his cock.

And this is what he was really asking her, not _can I pull your hair_ but _can I be in control_ because he is, utterly, Elain’s doing her best to use her tongue on him as he moves her, but he sets her pace, her depth, keeps the grip on her hair hard so she has no choice but to submit. Elain was enjoying herself before but now she feels like she might die from it. The pain and the helplessness shouldn’t turn her on but they do; the strained eye contact they’re making as he does this to her—as she _lets_ him to this to her—is so brazenly intimate it’s making her tremble. She wants him, all of him, in every way possible.

“Just like that, pet,” he murmurs, tense, letting his grip on her hair slacken and her gaze drop as she falls into the pace he’s set for her, fast but even. His cock is slick and throbbing against her tongue, his breathing ragged. “I— _gods_ , your mouth feels good.”

He gives a tug on her hair, and Elain lets out a whine; he must _feel_ the sound because she feels the echo of it through the bond, the swell of his pleasure. She can tell he’s close, the secondhand sensations making her ache. She swirls her tongue around the head roughly, pushes him further—

Lucien chokes, seizes up under her, “Elain, Elain, I’m— _fuck_ , I’m going to—“

Elain has no intention of drawing away, and with a few final strokes Lucien convulses, her mouth flooding with something thick and hot as he tumbles through a string of curses.

It’s a deep, desperate rush of satisfaction to make her mate come. She gives him another pump or two for good measure, and he’s panting hard as she draws away, swallowing the mouthful of his come a little messily. She wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, heart still racing.

“Elain,” Lucien says, voice husky with recovery, tugging her to him; Elain is glad enough to collapse, to mold into his side and bask in the rawness between them. Lucien wraps his pale arms around her like she’s made of glass, groans long and low into her shoulder. His hands stroke her arms, her hair. “You’re incredible, dove.”

Her hands rest on his chest, and she imagines she can feel the bond thrumming there as it does in her. “I’m yours,” she says, half a correction and half an addition. It feels good to say it.

He kisses her, deep and slow.

 

——————————

 

Elain wakes the next morning oddly aroused, perhaps because Lucien’s head is between her legs, kissing up the insides of her thighs.

He looks up when he realizes she’s awake, and says by way of _good morning_ , “Is there any chance you’d consider moving into my room when we get back?”

She’s such a breathless combination of happy and sleepy and desperately turned on that all she can do is nod feverishly, and Lucien gives her a pleased smirk before plunging his tongue between her slick folds and making Elain _wail_.

When they return the key to the room much later that morning, she tips the inkeep exorbitantly.

 

 

this fic is also on [tumblr](http://valamerys.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dedicated to the good people of tumblr, who found out this was pure smut and in no short terms demanded it. bless their filthy hearts.


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